Our Lives on the Voicemail
by BlackStar42Roses
Summary: All the voice mail messages Yamamoto had left for Hibari from their middle school days until their adulthood. Without realizing it, Hibari's phone had recorded moments of their innocence, happiness, fears, strengths, vulderability, and love through the years.


Our Lives on the Voicemail

Synopsis: All the voice mail messages Yamamoto had left for Hibari from their middle school days through their adulthood. Without realizing it, Hibari's phone had recorded moments of their innocence, happiness, fears, strengths, vulnerability, and love through the years.

I have no idea what I am writing. I should be doing schoolwork and finishing my other incomplete stories first. Granted, I'm like a hyperactive three year old when it comes to writing though. I just can't settle down on one piece at a time. It drives me insane, and I'm betting it makes you annoyed too, merup. Anyway. Please don't kill me :'D

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Our Lives on the Voicemail_

* * *

"_This is Hibari Kyoya-san's phone. He's unable to take your call at the moment, so please leave a message after the beep—oh! Kyoya-san? What're you—argh! Wait, Kyoya-san—! _

_Leave a message on my damn phone and I'll bite you to death, herbivore. Now shove off."_

_Beep._

6:18 pm, July 11th

"Hibari! Wow, your voicemail is straight to the point, isn't it? And is that Kusakabe-san's voice? Well, now that I've called you, my number is saved in your cell phone, so if you run into any trouble you can call me for back up right away! Also, are you free for dinner tonight? Tsuna's busy and Senpai's off to go boxing. Well, call back when you've got the time!"

(Hibari, shockingly, ends up going to dinner with Yamamoto that night, because when he got the message he threw a fit and went to demand how in the blue moon Yamamoto got his number, but the other just grinned in his stupid, infuriating, don't-worry-about-it-now kind of way, and treated Hibari to a giant plate of sushi at his restaurant. In the end, he never did find out how the idiot got his number.)

* * *

4:12 pm, August 13th

"Hi again Hibari! Wow, you're rather unsociable, aren't you? Well, just calling to let you know that I have a game tonight, and Tsuna and Gokudera and the little kid and everyone else is gonna come watch! You should come too, the more the merrier, right? Well, I gotta run, warm ups are going to start soon. I'll look for you in the stands!"

(Hibari stares at his screen long after listening to the message, baffled. He didn't expect the herbivore to call back so quickly, although in retrospect, it had been nearly a month since the last time Yamamoto called. And what was he up to now, a game? A baseball game? Didn't he have schoolwork or something? Hibari scowls and tries to bury himself in his paperwork, but after the sounds of the school cheering and screaming drifts relentlessly through the window for a good half hour, he growls and yanks on his coat, stalking through the building and into the stands. He steals a can of soda from the crowd of troublesome herbivores and beats up exactly fifteen people before he feels a little more at home sitting on a pile of bloody corpses. Namimori wins without a hitch, and Yamamoto's radiant smile when he spots Hibari on his morbid throne very nearly makes up for all the noise and crowds he's sat through for the past hour.)

* * *

5:15 pm, April 26th

"Hey, Hibari, just letting you know that there's something fishy going on in Namimori right now, especially with those students from Koukyo. Just a heads up, really. Um. Well, if you're not busy, come over for sushi tonight, yeah? I like eating with you. Well, talk to you later then. Bye."

(He gets the message when he's lying bloody and bruised on the floor in the backroom of that stupid pineapple head Mukuro's little hideout, feeling weak at the knees and nauseous. His head's pounding something awful and his fingers arms hurt, even though it's been a while after seeing the sakura. Strangely, though, the only thing he can really feel is the slight frustration that he won't be able to take Yamamoto up for his offer. Missed sushi, is, after all, wasted sushi.)

* * *

2:14 pm, April 27th

"Hibari. It's me. I'm okay. I'm alive. You better be alive too, alright? Wait for me, Hibari. I'm coming for you."

(He'd just beat the shit out of that weird yo-yo guy and the beast kid, and he hadn't bothered to check his phone until he feels it vibrating in his jacket pocket, signaling a missed call. And suddenly, it's Yamamoto fucking Takeshi's voice in his ear, despite the fact that he shouldn't be here, in Koukyo Land, he shouldn't be poking his nose into things that aren't his business, the fact that he hardly stands a chance against any of these herbivore goons—and Yamamoto's here. Suddenly, he's here.

Not here because of Tsuna or because of Reborn's orders, because the message had said _I'm coming for __**you**_. For him. For Hibari.)

* * *

6:18 pm, July 24th

"Hey, Hibari, one of my pop's customers gave him a pair of tickets to that concert in town a week from now. You…wanna go with me? It'll be fun, promise. We can get ramen afterwards too, if you like. Well, let me know if you're in, yeah? Talk to you later!"

(It's the dead of summer, when it's warm enough for the girls to wear their short skirts and Yamamoto to practice his pitches and swings shirtless on the Namimori grounds, which infuriates Hibari more than he'd care to admit. He absolutely does not like watching Yamamoto practice when he's in the prefect's air-conditioned room, going through stacks of paperwork. No. Not at all. However, Yamamoto does happen to be violating dress policy, so Hibari happily stomps down to the baseball diamond with tonfas held high to beat the stupid idiot's head in. Yamamoto deflects his blows rather expertly with his baseball bat, but Hibari's still stronger and he eventually finds a comfortable seat to bask in his victory as Yamamoto leans against the bleachers, shading his face from the sun and bleeding from his nose. It's a strangely comfortable scenario, even if it's a tad bit too hot and Hibari's shirt is sticking to his back. Seeing the empty row of metal seats gleaming in the sun reminds him of something, though.

"Yes."

"What?" Yamamoto asks, momentarily thrown off. Hibari shoots him a glare.

"Yes, herbivore. You're paying for the ramen, though," and he gets up to walk back upstairs to continue his marking. He barely gets three paces before he's enveloped in the best hug of his life.)

* * *

7:08 am, September 8th

"Hibari? Hey, been a while. Listen, Reborn's taking us out for some field training today…we're, uh, flying out to Italy. Not sure if you wanted to come or not, but I'd be really glad if you did, yeah? I know you have school and whatnot…but you're smart anyway…and Reborn said there'll be a lot of training and fighting! You like fighting, right? Haha, well…please come. I, uh, miss you. Um. Yeah. Call back later, please?"

(Hibari stares at his phone for a long time after that, slightly bemused. Yamamoto had sounded hesitant and shy, which isn't something often associated with the sociable and friendly ex-baseball player. They'd grown up now, all of them, even himself, Hibari muses. The baby assassin is insisting that they get their training in early so all the Guardians can protect Tsuna, which ultimately goes back to Yamamoto convincing him to come on the trip. Hibari wants to go, he really does. But his stomach flops at the thought of calling back, so he makes Kusakabe dial for Reborn instead as he packs his bag, sharp adrenaline thrumming through his veins.)

* * *

4:56 am, October 23rd

"…mmph…heya, Hibari…don't know if you'll get this before you board the plane, but I hope you do…I'm sleepy as hell, man, I don't get how you can wake up so early! It's too bad you're not staying for the training anymore…I guess you really do love Namimori, don'tcha? Maa, maa…well, have a safe flight, Hibari. I'll see you soon."

(He's sitting at the little café inside the airport, sipping a cup of sub-standard tea when he listens to Yamamoto's sleep-drowsed voice mumbling into his ear through the phone. It's so easy to pretend that Yamamoto's actually beside him, by his side, whispering a soft goodbye. Hibari flushes, shudders, and quickly hangs up. He's not used to this kind of feeling. In fact, he _hates_ those kind of feelings, where his insides feel warm and buttery and kind of like he's having a fever, except minus sinus congestion and a rioting headache. But still. He doesn't like to admit Yamamoto Takeshi, of all people, make him feel a relaxed, safe, content…no, no, none of that. Hibari purses his lips and glares at his tea, like it's the tea's fault. In fact, it should be. He is definitely _not_ upset that he's leaving Italy early and leaving the Rain Guardian behind.

"Now boarding Flight 456, Rome to Tokyo."

Hibari gets up, and thinks of Yamamoto's voice wishing him a safe trip. For a wild moment he thinks of heading right back to the mansion where all the others are still sleeping, snug under their blankets, but then he picks up his bag and ploughs his way through customs.)

* * *

10:41 pm, December 25th

"Hibari! How've you been? Well…I know it's been a while since we spoke, but since it's the holidays and all…and you're in Japan…and I'm in Italy…well…I just wanted to say Merry Christmas! And, I, ah, booked a ticket the other day, so I'll be visiting on the 27th. Keep that day free for me, okay? I want to see you again. And, ah…I love you, Kyoya. I'll see you soon."

(It sounded like Yamamoto hung up a little too quickly after his confession, which Hibari finds, to his own horror, rather endearing. He listens to the message five more times to make sure he didn't misunderstand anything—and damn that idiot, he's always been so straightforward, regardless of other people's feelings—and spends the next two days pacing his flat like a caged animal. It shouldn't be like this. He's older, smarter, blood thirstier. Romance should be nothing more than a pesky emotion, to be cast aside. Yet, it's Yamamoto's voice that unwinds all the stress from his shoulders, and it's Yamamoto's words that bring back all the herbivore-like feelings he had at the airport in Rome a month ago. When Yamamoto shows up on his doorstep days later, taller, hair a little longer, smile wide as ever, Hibari allows himself to be drawn up into a hug and a soft, hesitant kiss that shouldn't have felt nearly that beautiful.

Or, for lack of a better word, it was _perfect_.)

* * *

"_Hi! This is Hibari Kyoya's cell phone. And this is Hibari Kyoya's boyfriend, Yamamoto Takeshi. He's not available to take your call right now because he's out beating someone up, eating sushi, or having delicious sex with me, so please leave a mes—oh! Kyoya! Hey! What're you doing here? Ah, Kyo—!_

_Call this fucking number and die, herbivores._

_Ah, Kyoya, don't be so mean now; you'll scare these poor people!_

_Shut up, Yamamoto Takeshi, I did not give you permission to speak._

_Oh, you wanted to play seme today? Sure, c'mere and we'll—ah, mmm, fuck, Kyoya, that's hot—"_

_Beep._

(Hibari's new voicemail will scar their comrades for months to come.)

* * *

8:50 am, February 11th

"Hibari! God, Hibari, I'm so sorry, the plumbing exploded in my bathroom just this morning and everything's swamped…I had to pull a couple of things out of the way before I could call maintenance from my apartment and get everything cleaned up. I'm so, so, so sorry, I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes, okay? We won't be late, I swear to God. I'll talk to you later, I'm driving now! Bye!"

(It figures that it would be at Tsuna's perfectly organized, readied and rehearsed Inheritance Ceremony [the _actual_ one this time] that everything would just fall apart. Yamamoto, as it happened, had a plumbing problem that would eventually flood half his apartment and the room below his. Hibari had managed to catch some kind of bug, and had been stuck with horrible headaches, stomach pains and vomiting for the past two days already. On top of that, they were late, previously stuck in traffic, and now driving on the curb while two police cars struggled to keep up with Yamamoto's sports car. Normally, Hibari would appreciate the thrill of a car chase, but today, it was all he could do to keep from spewing chunks onto the upholstery. They were late, so very late, and Hibari honestly couldn't give two shits about the Ceremony at all.

Yamamoto made a hairpin swerve and blew his way across five lanes before racing up the tangled, sharp-curved pathway leading up to the Vongola Mansion. He peeled through the gates, clipping one of his rear-view mirrors, and screeched to a halt six feet from the doorway, squeezing inbetween Dino's blazing red Ferrari and Longchamp's paisley-patterned limo. The bumper of Yamamoto's car scrapes slightly against Dino's, leaving an inch-long scratch on the back.

"Whoops," Yamamoto grins sheepishly, scratching his neck as he attempts to straighten his tie. "You okay, Kyoya?"

Hibari opens his mouth to answer, truly, in an angry, raging fashion, but the next thing he knows his stomach rolls horribly and he's throwing up onto Yamamoto's lap, stomach acids, chunks, matching Armani suits and all.)

* * *

1:12 pm, June 18th

"Hibari? Maa, looks like I've got your voicemail again. Seriously, pick up your damn phone. Sasagawa-senpai and I are going to rendezvous with Tsuna and Gokudera in France on the 15th. Can you make it? I know you don't like meeting up with people, but you know…it's France! I've only seen pictures of it in Namimori textbooks, y'know? Plus, if you come early, we can go see the Eifel Tower or something. I hear it's really romantic…so yeah. I'll be waiting. Love you."

(France. That stupid asshole asked him on a date to _France_. Hibari firmly decides that the only reason he'll go to the country of romance and fashion and really long bread would be to beat the shit out of that moron. He's in Seville at the moment, camped out in an old apartment watching a minor target through the dust-smeared window while Hibird chirps musically, snuggling into his hair. It'll take less than two hours for him to pull some strings and instantly land a plane ticket into the country where the others are, but he doesn't count on the fact that the minor target not turning out to be so minor after all. It's a rare slip-up on his account even though he cleans up the mess as efficiently as the Vongola's Cloud Guardian is expected to. But it's already been four days since the voicemail and when Hibari finally climbs to the top of the Eifel Tower, Yamamoto is long gone. This time, he resolutely tells himself that the slight pang of disappointment he's feeling is because he couldn't kick that girly baseball idiot's ass.)

* * *

3:41 pm, August 13th

"White Hornet Hill, 5:00 sharp. Approximately two dozen Millefiore rogues, but most of them only have C-level rings. See you there, in France or home."

(Hibari's hiding out in one of his safehouses in the outskirts of town at the moment, quietly smoking a cigarette as he listens to Yamamoto's latest message while the rain pitter-patters onto the stone-paved ground outside. It's short and clipped, nothing like the rambling one-sided conversations he used to leave on Hibari's voicemail when he was younger. The mafia has changed them all, but perhaps most of all in Yamamoto. There's a steely glint in his eye that replaced the soft, warm glow his child self once had, and as much as Hibari despises to admit it, he misses that warmth. It was an untainted innocence that one too many hits and one too many undercover attacks had shattered.

But, strangely enough, he can still hear the emotions inside Yamamoto's voice. If there's one thing he hasn't lost, it's his ability to convey all his feelings simply through words. _See you there, in France or home_. It's the stupidest reference to the time Hibari missed the rendezvous in France, at the Eifel Tower, but Yamamoto remembers it, uses it, because he'd told Hibari sometime later that he had been so irrationally worried that one time he'd nearly stayed behind despite the consequences of doing so. And, shockingly, that confession hadn't put Hibari off; rather, it seemed to actually warm his heart.

It's a code, really, that ridiculous phrase of France and home. It means _I miss you, but I'll see you again, and I love you_.)

* * *

10:05 pm, December 24th

"KYOYA! GET TO HEADQUARTERS NOW! Tsuna's given us the slip and fuck, fuck it all, he's going to Byakuran by himself, we have to stop him, you have to get your men and cut off the main exit routes. Storm the place if you must. Damn it, _don't let Tsuna get in_. Please, Kyoya, I'm counting on you."

(He runs. He _really_ runs. And he doesn't stop.)

11:58 pm, December 24th

"Hibari? Hibari, damn it, Hibari, _where are you_? Dear God, Kyoya, he's gone. Tsuna's gone. It's over."

(He can feel his insides run cold, his fingertips numbing, and he swears to himself that it was only the winter wind. His chest feels as hollow as Yamamoto's voice as the word _gone_ echoes inside his head like a broken record…and then Kusakabe leans in, a worried look on his face and says "Kyoya-san?" Hibari stiffens and snaps into action, sliding his phone back into his jacket and snarls, "Call it in. I'm going to bite all those fucking herbivores to death." His hands don't shake as he slides out of the car and takes out his tonfas, because he's going to be spilling a _lot_ of blood tonight.)

* * *

3:49 am, December 25th

"Hey, Kyoya? What're we gonna do? Where are you anyway? Pick up my calls, eh? I don't want to mumble to your voicemail every damn time…it's much better talking to you face to face…please call me back, fuck. There's so much shit to pick up after this…we don't have boxes, Kyoya…ugh…how're we gonna figh' Byakuran? Fucking Byakuran…what's his deal…God, Kyoya, I'm so sick and tired…I can't believe this…don't get mad at me for callin'…it hurts, Kyoya…it hurts like _hell_…"

(The rest of the message is botched by barely controlled sniffles that eventually morph into harsh, unrestrained chokes, and it sounds like Yamamoto's actually in agony. Hibari feels mildly uncomfortable with this raw, unguarded side of the Rain Guardian, and wonders vaguely why the man chose to call him of all people—heartless and ice cold bastard, right? But even when Yamamoto's slightly drunken sobs go on for another twelve minutes, he sits in the darkness of his apartment, shirt still stained with blood and a dying cigarette hanging limp between his fingers, and continues to listen to them all.)

* * *

5:15 pm, December 28th

"…"

(It's the day of Tsuna's funeral, and Hibari's surprised by the one message on his phone. He hadn't attended the ceremony with the other Guardians, but he's not an asshole. He'd just come to pay his respects, albeit a bit later. He _is_, however, unsurprised at the fact that Yamamoto had said nothing in the message at all, because even Hibari can understand that some things just can't be expressed with words.

The death of their friend—not Boss, not Tenth, not Vongola—is one of those things.)

* * *

9:04 am, March 13th

"Hibari. Listen, I know you're not going to believe this…but it's Tsuna. Tsuna's here, _here_ here, and…he's younger. He and Gokudera. They came from the past. It's…it's so fucking crazy right now, but you gotta come back. I don't know where you are and when you'll get this message, but please. Things are changing, Kyoya, and…shit, Kyoya, I think something's gonna happen soon. I can _feel_ it, so hurry back to Japan, okay? I miss you. See you soon, in France or home."

(He's in Dubai of all places when he hears the message in the warm afternoon sun, sweat sticking slightly to his temple as his heart leaps like a herbivore at Yamamoto's words. Sawada Tsunayoshi was supposed to be dead, for all of three months now. He was dead, buried in the forest and in the Vongola Cemetery both, surely bones by now, nothing but a corpse, a shell of the great leader he once was, and—

—and suddenly, Hibari needed to go to Japan. There were a lot of factors that swayed him into doing this, really; anything related to Sawada Tsuna had always made him do the most irrational things. But it was Yamamoto's voice that really sealed the deal. Yamamoto, who hadn't called for the three months since Tsuna's death, who hadn't even had the energy to stop Hibari when he packed up half the shirts in their shared closet and left without a word, who hadn't even been able to _think_ about Tsuna without looking like someone was forcibly removing his spleen with scissors, but was now speaking his deceased friend's name with utmost ease. Hibari ordered his plane ticket right then and there, in the middle of a packed and sweltering hot street.

He had to go home.)

* * *

When he gets back, he pretends that he doesn't know the difference between his Yamamoto and the ten years younger Yamamoto. There was a passing moment of frustration at the fact that he'd _missed_ the stupid idiot again, and that his boyfriend had somehow been sent back in time already to be replaced by this inexperienced young sprog with a Rain Ring he still didn't know how to control. But then, it's quashed by the smell and sight of Yamamoto's blood and Hibari sees red.

Honestly.

He leaves for less than half a year, and the first thing he has to do when he comes back is to clear out the trash?

* * *

8:18 am, May 16th

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

He stares dubiously at the phone that had started ringing just minutes after he'd gone back to the future. He felt suspiciously hung over and slightly overwhelmed, and with the amount of people swarming around him, cheering, talking of the younger generation's victory against Byakuran and celebrating their return, he would normally be in no mood to bother with his phone. But he glances up, and he sees him, tall, broad-shouldered, with mussed up hair, complete with the scarred chin. His dark eyes are knowing and his sleek cell phone is pressed against his ear, hand tucked neatly into the pocket of his pressed pants. Hibari holds his ringing phone in one hand, the other hanging limply by his side, and Yamamoto grins at him from across the grassy field, expression gentle, hopeful, and inviting. Before he knew what he was doing, Hibari's fingers brushes over the touch screen of the device as a strange, herbivorous warmth flutters in his stomach once more.

Then, he picks up the call and says, "So, is this France, or home?"

* * *

_End_

* * *

This was fluffier than I imagined. I hope you guys liked it :'D Thank you for reading!

-BlackStar


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